Page 78 of Beautiful Killer

“So you got pregnant . . .” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Right at the start? Maybe even the second night we spent together?”

The first time we didn’t use a condom.

I bit my lip. God, talking about us being together was not helping my current state, despite the topic of conversation. Nether was the way he was looking at my mouth. I nodded. “Yes.”

“The book I picked up today said you could have other symptoms?” he asked kind of self-consciously.

He picked up a book? Like I needed to fall in love with him more than I already was. The lump was back and I swallowed it back down again. “Ah, yeah, I’m tired a lot and pee more.”

His lips twitched and I almost swooned.

Get it together, Sunny.

I certainly wasn’t going to mention how much bigger my boobs had somehow gotten. Or how they felt like hot, overblown cantaloupes.

His eyes dropped to my blanket-covered chest, like he’d read my mind, and the lip twitch vanished. His nostrils flared. Looked like he’d noticed all on his own. My nipples tightened again.

Zeke dragged in a breath and stood suddenly. “I’m gonna hit the gym,” he said. “You know where I am if you need me.” Then he was across the floor, and disappearing behind the door.

I stared after him. If I need him? What if I had a sexual emergency? Did that count?

Stop it Sunny! You know why that’s a bad idea.

My head did. My lady parts on the other hand, not so much. They weren’t on board with my current plan at all. With a sigh, I got up off the couch and wandered to the kitchen. Zeke had left food and dishes on the bench, so I tidied up, loaded the dishwasher, and switched it on. Then, because I was buzzing with all this restless energy, I walked around the warehouse and straightened a few things up. I headed upstairs and got ready for bed, tying my hair up in a messy bun, washing my face and brushing my teeth, then pulled on a nightie. It was blue stretchy cotton with little green hearts and spaghetti straps, and came to about mid-thigh. It was a little stretched out and worn, but it was my most comfortable. My feet were cold, I always had cold feet, so I rummaged around in my bag for socks. I only had ankle socks. Damn, I’d forgotten my super soft, ultra-warm chenille ones. I eyed Zeke’s drawers. He wouldn’t mind. I quickly pulled the top drawer open and found a pair of black socks. They reached just below the knee on me when I pulled them up, and were nice and warm. It didn’t matter that his feet were so big the heel reached about calf height and stuck out all weird. Some of Zeke’s clothes were lying on the floor by the bed, so I gathered them up and trekked back down the stairs toward the garage/gym space where I knew he had a washer and dryer.

I reached the door and paused. Music, deep and bass, thumped through the heavy barrier. I paused. Maybe I shouldn’t disturb him? I glanced back down at the washing overflowing my arms, but I really didn’t fancy the idea of lugging this all back up to the bedroom. It’d be fine. I’d just put the load on then leave him to it.

I leaned the armful of clothes against the door, so I could let go with one hand and open the door. It swung open and I walked in . . . then stumbled over my own feet.

The music was way louder in here; he obviously had exceptional sound proofing. This also meant he hadn’t seen or heard me yet, and I was glad of it, because I knew my eyes were bulging out of my head almost comically. Zeke was in the corner of the room in front of the punching bag hanging there. He’d stripped off and was wearing a pair of black nylon shorts. His knuckles were wrapped in black tape and his feet were bare. He wasn’t just using his fists, though—he was using his whole body, punching, kicking, every muscle bulging, rolling, working as he moved. And that Reaper tattoo on his back danced with him. His skin was coated in sweat, and I could hear his grunts and growls even over the music.

I was pretty sure I’d just had a mini orgasm right then and there.

Yep. He had complete control of his body.

He stopped suddenly, head twisting to me. His gaze lifted to my hair then dropped to my feet. He did another one of those nostril flares then walked to his phone, did something, and the music was turned right down. Then he headed toward me.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him, my heart going double-time. I was blatantly watching him walk. I blamed my out-of-control hormones completely. “I hope you don’t mind I borrowed some socks?” I said stupidly when he stopped in front of me.

He shook his head.

“You know how I get cold feet . . .” I let that trail off. Not wanting to go there. To the many nights we’d spent together, me often shoving my feet between his. “I thought I’d throw this in the washing machine . . . then I’ll, ah . . . leave you to get back to your, um . . .” I trailed off again because I didn’t exactly know what he’d been doing. I just knew it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

“Kickboxing,” he said.

“Right, well, it was extremely . . . um, impressive.”

His gaze dropped to the clothes in my arms. “Is that my laundry?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t need to do that, Sunny.”

“I was restless, it gave me something to do. So I’ll just . . .” I forced my feet to carry me across the floor, and refused to allow myself to look back as I loaded the machine, dumped in some powder, and turned it on. When I turned back, he hadn’t moved, he was still watching me, and his heavy-lidded stare did not waver as I walked back. God, the way his skin glistened, the way those tight abs shuddered with every heavy breath, was more than a mortal flesh and blood woman should be expected to resist.

As I approached, visions of me stopping in front of him and dropping to my knees, tugging down the elastic of those shorts, freeing his cock and taking it in my mouth, fired through my head. I was breathless by the time I reached him. “I guess I should leave you to it.”

“Yeah,” he said, but didn’t move. His stare had dropped again and he licked his top lip in a way that made me shiver. “You got something . . .” He reached out as I looked down to where he was looking. There as a dusting of laundry powder on my collarbone.